


Still With Me

by Winddrag0n



Series: Deadmeat [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Beach House, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, do I even need to tag biting at this point, getting even freakier in the bathroom, getting freaky on the dance floor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 03:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n
Summary: There is, inexplicably, a coat check, which Will uses. He does not pocket the ticket, simply leaves it on a stool near the door, knowing Hannibal will grab it for him. While Hannibal is fast and assured in his movements, this is Will’s territory, and he easily slips a safe distance away with plenty of time to see Hannibal’s entrance. He catches the man in question putting the paper safely away with a small shake of his head, and then he’s looking up, taking in the room around him.A shiver runs down Will’s spine, because he did not realize Hannibal would actually make an effort to blend in. His hair holds no treatment, falling softly across his forehead, and he is dressed in dark grey slacks with a matching black button-up, undone partway down his chest. Most of all, in his eyes, where Will had expected to see some form of rejection, he only sees curiosity.Will turns away, towards the main floor. This point of this was to let go, not dwell on things, and he closes his eyes and lets it happen.-Will makes a habit of going out to clubs, and one night Hannibal follows.





	Still With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I front-loaded the plot in this one. Not intentionally, but it just worked out that way, as things do.

“Nice?” Will raises an eyebrow, peering down at the plane ticket Hannibal has handed him. “I thought you’d choose Italy.”

Neither of them had brought much to their temporary residence, and it had all fit into a couple of expensive-looking suitcases. Over the course of their short stay, Hannibal had made no effort to include Will in the choice of where they would go, but only because it was obvious the younger man didn’t actually care. “It was a difficult decision,” Hannibal admits, placing their luggage by the door as they wait for the car that will take them to the airport. “In the end, I chose somewhere where it would be easiest for you to communicate.”

It’s strangely considerate, but something else bothers Will more. “Do you think I speak French?”

“You grew up in southern Louisiana,” Hannibal points out. “Are you going to tell me you did not learn?”

“Most people don’t,” Will argues, but his heart isn’t in it. “I haven’t used it in more than a decade.”

“I trust that you will remember in time.” Hannibal smiles at him, a small, honest thing. 

There is the sound of a car pulling up outside, and they both move to collect the luggage. “Don’t make fun of my accent,” Will mutters. While he had all but obliterated his southern drawl from English, he had made no effort to do so from additional languages, and could only imagine how his French would sound. “I’m sure I’ll get enough of that from the fine people of France.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hannibal answers in a serious tone. 

Will sighs. Serves him right for trying to crack a joke around Hannibal Fucking Lecter. 

They fly first class, obviously, and the ten hour flight is comfortable yet boring. It’s exhausting, in the draining way all travel seems to be, and Will barely remembers the car ride or even the appearance of the house itself before he has stumbled inside and passed out on a couch in a rather undignified manner. He wakes slowly, sometime in the late afternoon the next day, to the feeling of a blanket tucked around him and a stiffness in his bones.

The sound of waves against rock draws him outside, and for a moment the sight steals his breath away. The ocean and sky are a vivid blue, the cliffs topped with an almost impossibly green foliage. He approaches the edge cautiously, and spies a small sandy beach at the base, hidden by the edges of the cliffside. “There is a path down, if you wish to reach the bottom,” Hannibal tells him. Will is only just used enough to the other man’s sudden appearances not to start.

“A private beach?” Will laughs. “I don’t want to know how much this place cost.”

“It was much cheaper when I bought it originally,” Hannibal hums, “though I imagine it is worth a small fortune now.”

“How far outside the city are we?”

“Nice is only a fifteen minute drive away.”

Now, Will turns, sees Hannibal is dressed casually, in khaki pants and a white button up shirt. The sight startles him, far more than his silent materialization previous had. He recovers, glances around; out in the distance he can see other houses, visible but far enough that sound would not carry between them. A secret retreat for the fabulously wealthy. He focuses on the house itself next; part of him expected a sprawling manor, but he is instead met with a large stone home, ivy climbing the walls, with huge windows facing the ocean. Will frowns. “Ivy? Really?”

“Something that will require frequent tending to.” Hannibal is looking at Will, and the empath can read the true meaning as easily as if it had been written on the air before him.  _ Something to keep your idle hands busy. _

They return to the home. Hannibal has made them a simple lunch, and as they eat, they talk. “There was a fire,” Will brings up, recalling an article he had read on the flight over. “In Baltimore.”

“How terrible,” Hannibal says blandly, looking anything but distressed.

He tries again. “It didn’t start there, but your office was destroyed.”

“The building was mostly stone. I imagine the structure survived, if nothing else.”

Will sighs, and pushes his half-eaten meal away. “Okay, look. I waited to bring this up until now so you wouldn’t think I was using it as an excuse to run away, but if… this?” He makes a vague gesture, encompassing the entire room, the entire house, and all that it entails. “We need ground rules if this is going to work.”

Hannibal sets his cutlery down and peers at Will, considering. “Does the structure of this arrangement reassure you?”

“Rule one,” Will cuts in, before Hannibal can spin whatever tale he is beginning. “No using psychoanalysis to deflect away from topics that make you uncomfortable.”

Across the table, Hannibal briefly flashes an expression Will can only describe as ‘petulant’. “Am I allowed to set boundaries of my own, or will you simply seek to guide my every action?”

Will considers adding  _ rule two: no snapping,  _ but instead he just rubs a hand across his forehead. “Of course you are,” he sighs. “This is- what we had before, it’s not sustainable. You know it isn’t. We need to be honest with each other.”

“Is that your next rule? Honesty?”

“It’s the only rule, really,” Will answers. “Everything boils down to that.”

“Then shall that be the only rule?” Hannibal appears to have relaxed, lowered his defenses once more. “Honesty, above all else.”

They are only drinking tea, but Will raises his glass nonetheless. “To honesty,” he says, and tips the glass forward.

“To honesty.” Hannibal clinks their glasses together with a smile.

After they have finished lunch and are clearing it away, Will rewinds. “The fire,” he begins. “It’s far too convenient to have been a coincidence.”

“I did not start it directly, if that is what you are implying.” Hannibal turns on the faucet and begins washing their dishes, handing them over to Will for him to dry. “Though it would not have occurred without my influence.”

As close to a straight answer as Will would ever get, he assumes. Even with honesty, he would always have to endure the way Hannibal seemed to answer a question with a riddle, or spend ten minutes just to meander to a yes or a no. “Smart. Did you save my patient files first?”

Hannibal pauses. “Are you interested in seeing them?” He resumes washing, turning off the faucet when all the dishes have been cleaned. “You only have to ask.”

“Not really,” Will shrugs. “I’m not sure I’m ready to see all the melted clocks I drew for you.” He puts the final plates in the drying rack, but neither of them make any moves to leave the sink.

It’s Hannibal who breaks the strange torpor they have fallen into. “May I ask you a question, Will?” He nods. “You are putting a great deal of effort into ensuring the survival of this relationship. Why?”

Will frowns. “Is that not obvious? Do you really think I would have flown to France with you if I was planning on leaving in a month?”

“Let me rephrase.” Hannibal’s face is impassive, mouth ticked minutely downwards. “You have seen the truth of me, and I know it does not sit well. What keeps you here?”

The silence stretches on for a while as Will thinks. This is something he has examined at great length, tried to find some grand meaningful answer, some complex justification for his actions. No matter how long he thinks, he can never get beyond the simple truth of it. Once more, he shrugs. “My desire to be with you has finally eclipsed my outrage at your actions.”

Hannibal moves away, quickly and suddenly. “Come,” he beckons, “let me show you the house.”

There are so, so many rooms in the house, and as they walk through Will realizes the house extends far further backwards than he has assumed. Through most of them he nods, knowing he will never venture into the majority of what he is being shown. He remembers the library, the study, the sitting room, and not much else. Upstairs is more intimate, mostly blank unfurnished rooms intended to house a bedroom but ready to be repurposed into anything else. “While I have unpacked and furnished the master bedroom, you are free to choose any room you would like,” Hannibal offers.

The master is at the very front of the house, huge glass windows reaching from the floor to the ceiling looking out over the ocean. “The master’s fine,” he says dismissively. 

In response, Hannibal stiffens. “Very well. Please give me some time to move my things into another room.” He moves to do just that when Will’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Hang on,” Will implores. “If you want separate rooms I’ll take one of the others, but I just sort of assumed…” he trails off.

Hannibal’s voice is somewhat quiet when he speaks. “I did not want to presume.”

“Wow,” Will murmurs. “If I had known that fucking you would have made you more considerate, I would have let you bend me over Jack’s desk the day we met.”

It’s crude, unexpected, and it startles laughter out of Hannibal. Soon enough, Will joins him.

Money ends up being a sensitive subject. Will has some, but not enough to last, and Hannibal has what feels like a magic well that constantly vomits gold. He insists that he could easily provide for them both indefinitely, to which Will responds that he doesn’t want to feel like Hannibal’s kept boy. They talk about jobs, and it soon becomes an argument, ending with Will stomping out of the house after dinner and driving his car ( _ his _ car, they both have cars, Hannibal  _ bought him a car _ ) into the city.

He doesn’t believe he has a destination but there is a flyer he saw weeks prior in the back of his mind. By the end of the night he has managed to lose his coat once more and returns to Hannibal stinking of sweat, eyes wide, a smile plastered across his face.

It starts something that isn’t quite a pattern, so much as a habit. Will had never really expected to repeat his experience from the night he finally confronted Hannibal, considered it something of a fluke, but he discovered that even clear headed he was still drawn to the steady beat of the music and the pulsing of the crowd. Nothing seemed to flush away his tangled thoughts quite so thoroughly, obliterating all doubt and letting him focus on what truly mattered. Will learns quickly that different crowds affect him in different ways, and it doesn’t take long to figure out what clubs to avoid and where is safer to visit. The larger the better, as more people to absorb tended to amplify the result, leaving him riding a wave of pure unadulterated joy. A part of it felt like a drug, something he shouldn’t overuse or rely on, but in actuality the effects were almost entirely positive. It feels like something he doesn’t deserve.

Hannibal, predictably, hates it.

In the end it’s the coats that he keeps losing that does it. “Will,” Hannibal says, voice strained. “I am not telling you what you can or cannot do.”

Will has been expecting this conversation for a while, truthfully. He does not go often, no more than twice a month on average, but every time he returns Hannibal’s face is tight. It loosens, it always does, a large part because of the way Will surrenders himself so completely to the other man upon his return, but it does not keep the irritation from happening to begin with. He thought, briefly, that Hannibal was simply being prissy, but it does not take long for him to realize that Hannibal is something closer to jealous. Will always returns smelling of other people with hundreds more fusing together inside his head and ultimately, Hannibal has never been the type to share. “Good,” he shoots back, already tensing up for the conversation that will proceed.

“You have lost an astonishing amount of clothes in the past three months, mostly overcoats. I am only asking that you simply… exercise more caution, when you go out.”

Will blinks. “Are you implying I need a chaperone?”

It works, and he smiles at the flash of horror that crosses Hannibal’s face. Will tries to think of a place Hannibal would hate more than a club and is struggling to come up with a realistic answer. “Far from it,” Hannibal amends hastily. “Perhaps you can leave your coat and… whatever else you consider necessary in the car next time.”

“Sure,” Will huffs. “Whatever you say.” He won’t, and they both know it.

This is how Will, several nights later, finds himself in a situation he never even dreamed could be possible. There was a large event at once of the better clubs that night, he had been planning on going for a while, and Hannibal is following him. The older man is not making a terribly strong effort to conceal what he is doing, but he is keeping enough distance that Will knows he is not meant to acknowledge his presence. All he can think of is how immediately Hannibal will surely leave the venue once he steps inside. He plans to wait, double back once inside with his eyes on the door, just to see the look of terror in his eyes. It would be a rare sight indeed.

There is, inexplicably, a coat check, which Will uses. He does not pocket the ticket, simply leaves it on a stool near the door, knowing Hannibal will grab it for him. While Hannibal is fast and assured in his movements, this is Will’s territory, and he easily slips a safe distance away with plenty of time to see Hannibal’s entrance. He catches the man in question putting the paper safely away with a small shake of his head, and then he’s looking up, taking in the room around him.

A shiver runs down Will’s spine, because he did not realize Hannibal would actually make an effort to blend in. His hair holds no treatment, falling softly across his forehead, and he is dressed in dark grey slacks with a matching black button-up, undone partway down his chest. Most of all, in his eyes, where Will had expected to see some form of rejection, he only sees curiosity.

Will turns away, towards the main floor. This point of this was to let go, not dwell on things, and he closes his eyes and lets it happen. 

It’s almost calming, in comparison to other nights, a serene sort of excitement flowing through the masses before him. His experience is admittedly limited but this type of music- trance, if he remembers correctly, because the rat king of genres he had uncovered upon researching this had nearly overwhelmed him- had always been his favorite. It flowed, liquid and vast, swelling together into something greater. On some level, it reminded him of his stream, calming but hiding a great power just beneath the surface. He opens his eyes and slips into the crowd.

Everyone moves in what feels like slow motion, swaying in and out with the waves of sound, waiting for the moment when it all collides. The music starts lighter, focusing more on the expansive buildup than the inevitable crescendo. It’s oddly relaxing and incredibly freeing. No one was truly focused on another, simply a piece of the larger picture, content with being a part of the beautiful whole. Time stretches endlessly like this, everything hanging suspended in the air as everyone concerns themselves with nothing more than existing. Then, the music changes.

It’s another DJ, some coherent corner of Will’s mind supplies him, but it’s coordinated in a way that there is no break in the music, the final song of one set sliding effortlessly into the next. The music has a more focused purpose now, higher energy, a more relentless beat. It has a gravity to it, crashing everyone back down to the ground, drawing people together with an unavoidable magnetic force. Will is no exception. How could he be? They are all guided by the whims of the music and surrender themselves to its design willingly. 

There is no real reason to hide himself as he had the very first time he had done this. Will faces every person he dances with, no matter how close, takes in their thoughts and adds them to his own. He’s careful, even in this state, to guide away those rare exceptions that would only poison the ocean swirling in his mind. Like this, he is carried through the crowd, from island to island, letting more and more of the water seep into his boat and pull it closer to the depths. It all begins to blur pleasantly and he closes his eyes, lets the water finally take him.

An arm shoots out, hooks around his waist, pulling him back against the strong lines of another body. Will gasps and his eyes flutter open, partly out of shock, and his hands fly to the arm holding him in place. He has been in this position before, feels like he’s back there again when a hand rests beneath his chin and tilts his head back, a set of teeth he has felt many times before sinking lightly into the flesh of his neck.

This is not the time nor place, but Hannibal seems to understand that and does not actually bite, simply presses his lips down, and Will feels his tongue against his neck. He lets his eyes fall closed once more and nearly startles again when Hannibal begins to move behind him. Hannibal had been mostly forgotten to Will, dismissed entirely once he got to the main floor where he assumed the uptight man would never follow. It’s a welcome surprise, especially how even Hannibal moves  _ with  _ the music and not against it, pressing them together with no urgent purpose. If there was any distance, Will would push his body back and close it, wanting nothing more than to feel every inch of Hannibal pulsing against him. The man’s arm curls away from his waist, trusting Will to hold himself in place, and instead his hands roam all long Will’s body, touch feathery light and teasing. Will sighs into it, loves the fleeting touch, but while it would have matched earlier, it does not align now. His hands find Hannibal’s wrists, catch them lightly, and guide them to his hips.

Behind him, Will hears a quick intake of breath before those strong hands snap in place and then Hannibal is moving them both. Will’s own arms move, one curving up and hooking his hand around the back of Hannibal’s neck, the other settling over the man’s hand on his hip. He lets Hannibal lead, eager to see where he goes and what he does with the freedom he has been given. There is no hesitation in his movements, he slides their bodies together with the smooth waves of the music, close enough that Will begins to wonder if they’re two separate bodies or one, divided. The mouth on his neck moves, pressing wet kisses up the column of his throat, nipping at the hinge of his jaw. The sound darkens, the movements become harsher, and when Hannibal grinds forwards Will grinds  _ back. _

It’s just shy of indecent and even Will realizes this but Hannibal does not show any signs of stopping. He lets it continue for far too long before he pulls his hands away, loops fingers more securely around Hannibal’s wrist and pulls him off the dance floor and into the bathroom. It’s empty, thankfully, though Will doesn’t care and he’s not entirely sure Hannibal does either at the moment. He finds a stall near the end, far from the door, hauls them inside and bolts it closed behind them.

Hannibal does not waste any time, spinning Will around to face the wall and bending him awkwardly over the toilet. Will considers bracing himself on the tank but the wall looks less offensive and so he leans further forwards, spreading his legs so he can balance himself the best he is currently able. The man behind him deftly undoes his belt and fly, pulling both the pants and boxer briefs as far down as he is able to with the way Will has arranged his legs. It ends up not being terribly far, still above his knees, stretched tightly around his thighs and trapping him in place. “Open.” Hannibal’s voice is rough as he shoves the foil packet up to Will’s teeth and he bites down as he is asked, giving Hannibal the leverage he needs to tear the condom wrapper open. Will spits the piece of foil out and onto the floor.

At some point Hannibal had clearly freed himself but Will was too far gone to register it, full of a somehow boneless energy and the deep throb of arousal shooting to his core. Another tiny piece of trash flutters to the ground-  _ lube, he realizes later, wishing Hannibal had asked him to open that package as well-  _ and then what’s he’s been aching for is hot against him, pressing easily inside. Hands reach his hips once more, the same spots the rested on what couldn’t have been more than minutes earlier, now gripping hard enough to bruise. Will gasps, mouth falling open at the delicious pressure, the echo of pain he knows he won’t quite reach. Hannibal can be rough, particularly when it’s asked of him, but there is no time for something so involved, neither of them are in the state for it. This will be quick and dirty, a reality that drives home as Hannibal pulls back and slams in rapidly.

It’s incredible, the mix of sensations, the old plaster of the wall against his arms, the ache of the hands guiding him once more, the faintly muffled beat of the music just outside where they slam together with no elegance.  _ I’m having frantic sex with the esteemed Doctor Hannibal Lecter in a shitty club bathroom, _ he thinks, distantly. No one would believe him if he tried to tell them. Alana would be  _ horrified. _ He laughs, or tries, but it comes out closer to a breathy moan. His head drops down, forehead cushioned against his forearms. It’s close, but it should be closer. He pulls one arm away, the same as before, and returns it to the place where it belongs, settled over a hand dug deep into the flesh of his hip.

Hannibal understands, uses his uncovered hand to pull Will up and against his chest where the man immediately tilts his head back, throws the other arm back and hooks his hand behind Hannibal’s neck and this time when the teeth find his flesh, they bite down. It rips a long moan out of Will, broken when he feels two hands at his hips once more, and Hannibal is actually slowing, but why? For a brief, hanging moment, Will cannot decipher his intentions, and then the thrusts are deeper, longer, driving in with the tide of the music leaking through the walls. Will pushes back, grinds down on Hannibal’s cock, aware that the noises he’s making are entirely too frequent and too loud for their location but utterly unable to stop himself. It builds what feels like slowly, suffusing through his veins as they move, letting the music guide their movements until finally the break through to the surface, together.

Will is panting, letting the pleasure wash out of him, letting his thoughts bleed together and be washed away by sound. Hannibal, thankfully, has a clearer mind, and somewhere distant Will feels them both being cleaned, clothes set back in place, trash collected and bundled neatly to be thrown away upon their exit. “Will,” Hannibal coaxes, voice low. He’s lax, feels molten, does not respond other than a slow blink. With a sigh, the older man pulls Will out of the bathroom, along the perimeter of the club, through the coat check and out into the cold night that awaits them.

Every step away returns Will closer and closer to himself, though he does not speak until Hannibal is driving them both out of the city in Will’s care. “Did you not drive?” is what he chooses to break the heated silence between them.

When Hannibal looks over, he seems amused. “I took a taxi,” he confirms.

He leans against the window, eyes focused on the stars that fade into view as they escape the bright lights of the city. “I wish you hadn’t used a condom,” he sighs wistfully. Beside him, Hannibal actually  _ chokes. _

“The situation required it.” Hannibal sounds somewhat strained, and Will smiles against the window.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t dream,” he murmurs back. He thinks back to the intense experience, wonders how much higher it would have taken him if he had better felt the blinding heat inside him, the evidence planted deep within. His cock jerks, the stirrings of arousal returning to him. He wonders how long it would be before Hannibal will be ready.

“The night is still young,” Hannibal replies, and when Will turns to face him, the crooked smile on his face is burning, and he thinks that in this moment, finally, their thoughts have aligned.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tritonal Feat Christina Soto - Still With Me (Suncatcher Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOG_pvzUtgo)


End file.
